


wide awake and so alive

by jenwryn



Series: Writer's Month 2020 [27]
Category: S.C.I.谜案集 | S.C.I. Mystery (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Library Sex, M/M, Mild Exhibitionism/Exposure Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenwryn/pseuds/jenwryn
Summary: Bai Yutong’s not sleepy at all, now, not even remotely. He loosens his tie a little.Zhan Yao swallows.[ Writer's Month Prompt: Fantasy ]
Relationships: Bai Yutong/Zhan Yao
Series: Writer's Month 2020 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905067
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	wide awake and so alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UndeadRobins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeadRobins/gifts).



> Sooooo, way back in June, the entire premise of this fic was handed to me, rather beautifully, by K. This is just me passing it back :D. Title from the song "Car Crash" by Matt Nathanson. (Edited 3 Oct 2020.)

It’s not until Bai Chi knocks on the office door, and peeps his head in, to wish him a good night, that Bai Yutong realises how late it has grown — though, not as late as it once might have been, since Bai Chi leaves earlier these days, the quicker to get home to that magician of his (don’t think Bai Yutong hasn’t noticed). Bai Yutong responds with a sleepy _good night_ of his own, and doesn’t say anything about having being called _ge_ instead of _Bai Sir_ (it’s after hours anyway, and he’s tired, and there’s nobody else here). 

He rubs at his face, when Bai Chi is gone, and looks at the time on his phone. It really is late, he realises, and Zhan Yao still hasn’t come back from the library. 

There are no texts from him either. 

He sends, _you still there?_

Gets, _Yes. Just busy._ , as a response which, not overly helpful, but at least confirms it Zhan Yao’s location without him having be creepy about it.

Bai Yutong doesn’t bother texting to ask whether Zhan Yao has eaten dinner. He stands up, instead, exercises his stiff shoulders slowly, and pulls on his coat. 

It feels like forever before he’s at the university library, dinner in hand. He knows that Zhan Yao will have let himself in, after-hours, with his staff card. There’s a security guard near the front of the building, though, who unlocks the door for him, too, after peering at his SCI ID for a ridiculous amount of time, and making Bai Yutong listen to his clearly bored ramblings the whole while.

It takes a while to find his partner — his boyfriend, since he’s off the clock. It’s a while since he’s been in this library, but he knows which shelves Zhan Yao will be tucked in amongst — at least, from what he’d gleaned in their earlier texts, before the hour had dropped to an undignified level of late. And he does find him there, right where he’d expected him, bowed over a table, surrounded by books. Bai Yutong draws to a halt at the end of the aisle and watches him, fond and quiet; watches as Zhan Yao suddenly jumps to his feet and then stalks, like a hunter, intent, searching for a different book; watches, as Zhan Yao finds what he’s after with ease, opens it with care, and then flips to a specific page where he stops, and reads. He’s all focus. He’s all wonderful.

Bai Yutong had been hungry, before — had been looking forwards to sharing the dinner he’s brought, carefully picked up from one of Zhan Yao’s favourite places — but it’s a different kind of hunger that rolls through him now, a different kind of wanting that heats his belly as he watches Zhan Yao lick at his finger and turn another page. He has his glasses on, and Bai Yutong had almost forgotten how good he looks in them, hasn’t seen them in so long, and between them and the curl of his tongue on his fingertip, he—

He strides over and places the take-away carefully on the table. Zhan Yao turns to him, startled, and only just manages to settle the book back in amongst its comrades on the shelf before Bai Yutong is kissing him, long and deep.

Zhan Yao goes with it. He parts his lips and kisses back, hands reaching up to rest against Bai Yutong’s shoulders. 

Bai Yutong can tell the exact moment when Zhan Yao remembers where they are — or, perhaps, more likely, the exact moment where his awareness of where they are overrides his desire to keep on kissing. 

Zhan Yao goes still, and then pushes him back, very gently, but very firmly.

“Yutong,” he says, and there’s an attempt at a reproving expression on his face, which is rather underdone by how dark his eyes are, and by the bedroom look still lingering in his gaze. His hands are still on Bai Yutong’s shoulders, too, are still moving almost absently against them; Zhan Yao likes his shoulders, and they both know it.

Bai Yutong tugs off his jacket beneath Zhan Yao’s hold, and rolls up his sleeves, and tracks his boyfriend’s gaze following his movements. 

Bai Yutong’s not sleepy at all, now, not even remotely. He loosens his tie a little.

Zhan Yao swallows. 

“There’s nobody here,” Bai Yutong says, and he knows that they both already know that they’re doing this — knows that Zhan Yao is going to protest and look disapproving, and then is inevitably going to make the first move anyway. Bai Yutong is just speeding the process up a little. 

He stretches his arms above his head. He knows what he looks like when he does it. He knows it makes Zhan Yao want to bite into his upper arm muscles.

Zhan Yao pushes his glasses up, and rubs at his eyes beneath them. He sighs, a familiar long-suffering sigh, like being Bai Yutong’s boyfriend is such a hardship. When he settles his glasses back into place, though, he gives Bai Yutong a _look_ , and mutters, simply, “You’re the worst.”

“You love it,” Bai Yutong agrees and waits — one… two… — and then Zhan Yao is curling a hand around Bai Yutong’s tie, and is reeling him in.

Bai Yutong comes to life, moving forwards, and then taking Zhan Yao backwards with his momentum, pushing his spine up against the shelving. Books wobble where Zhan Yao has made gaps amongst them, but the gigantic shelves themselves hold completely steady as Bai Yutong presses one hand to Zhan Yao’s shoulder and the other to his face, holding him into place; giving him permission to _let go_ , to fall pliant against him, to give up control and allow Bai Yutong to take the lead for a bit. Zhao Yao relaxes against him. He closes his eyes and parts his lips; welcomes Bai Yutong in when he kisses him, again; kisses him throughly, warmly, telegraphing his delight at seeing him, at touching him, after a long day apart.

They kiss until Zhao Yao lets a moan escape — and then another — and then bites into Bai Yutong’s lip. His hands have begun to wander, have begun to tug Bai Yutong’s shirt hem from his pants; have climbed up his spine beneath his clothes; are stroking, warm and unfocused, along Bai Yutong’s sides.

When Zhan Yao moans a third time, Bai Yutong sinks to his knees in front of him; sinks to the hard carpet floor, and undoes Zhan Yao’s belt.

Zhan Yao groans, but does not say a thing, and Bai Yutong knows that that is his permission. He doesn’t look at Zhan Yao’s trousers, as he unzips them; doesn’t look at his pants, as he curls his fingers around Zhan Yao’s dick and takes it out; he just looks up, looks up and watches Zhan Yao’s face — watches the way he flushes — watches the way he seems stuck between wanting to let his eyes flutter shut, and wanting to be able to stare, in every which way, around them, to see if anyone is near. 

“There really is almost certainly nobody here,” Bai Yutong says, quietly, stroking Zhan Yao’s dick as he talks. “The security guy wanted to make conversation with me; he was whinging about guarding an empty building full of nothing but books. But you can think about being caught if you want. You can think about someone finding you here, coming apart with your cock down my throat, if it makes it better.”

Zhan Yao’s hips jerk against him.

They’ve talked about their fantasies, after all; drunk and lying in bed together, the darkness shielding their faces, their hands busy as they spoke. Bai Yutong _knows_.

He stops talking. He slides his hands warmly into Zhan Yao’s open pants; curves them against hips. He draws Zhan Yao’s dick into his mouth with practised ease, and goes straight for the spot that, when stroked by his tongue, will make Zhan Yao’s head drop back against the books behind it. He grins around dick as it does; grins as Zhan Yao glares down at him, glares because he can’t watch for people if his gaze is unfocussed and blurring at the ceiling. Bai Yutong winks, and gets properly to work.

He loves this. 

He loves sucking Zhan Yao off, loves having him in his mouth, loves watching him come undone just because of this, just because of him, just because of what he is doing. He makes it fast — feels briefly disappointed that he can’t let it go on long enough for Zhan Yao to get wound up sufficiently to lose all control, to start fucking into his mouth, to start _using him_ — but he knows there really is a chance that bored security guy might turn up to talk some more, and so he goes for what he knows will set his boyfriend off like a spring coil; grips his fingers into Zhan Yao’s arse and drags him forwards, drags him _deep_ , takes him down with force, a sudden shock of movement, until there’s dick blunt against the back of his throat, and then he holds it there, sucking.

Zhan Yao cries out into his hand; uses his other hand to grip Bai Yutong’s hair and to yank — hard, which means he’s close — is always close when he forgets to be gentle, when he forgets to be _nice_ , when he gets mean at the edges and twists Bai Yutong’s hair into his fist. Bai Yutong moans around his dick, half choking, drags at it with his tongue, refuses to let up. 

Zhan Yao doesn’t bother warning that he’s going to come — they’ve been here enough, enough to know that Bai Yutong is going to drink him down anyway, enough to know that Bai Yutong recognises full well when he’s poised; feels the way that he shakes, feels the way he that freezes and then shoves impossibly deeper, the second before his release hits the back of Bai Yutong’s throat. Bai Yutong takes it all; holds him hard through his orgasm and then, only then, only after, when Zhan Yao’s muscles have lost their tension against him, does he relax his own grip. He loosens his fingers one by one; pulls his head backwards with a leisurely drag, to clean Zhan Yao up as he goes; and then tucks him back into his pants, tidies his clothes, and buckles up his belt.

Zhan Yao is still upright, but is loose-limbed; has taken his hand from his mouth, wet and lined with teeth-marks, and has placed it on the shelf above his head, shaky elbow’d, to hold on for better balance. It takes him longer to disengage his hand form Bai Yutong’s hair. Bai Yutong just kneels there, just kneels and waits until Zhan Yao is ready; until Zhan Yao slides his fingers free, knuckles flexing to ease away the stiffness from the force with which he has held them. 

Bai Yutong catches his hand and holds it to his mouth; kisses his fingers lightly. 

He only stands when Zhan Yao tugs at his collar, and draws him into his arms. Zhan Yao holds him, good and warm and close, and the heat of his own erection throbs where they’re pressed together. He knows that Zhan Yao is about to offer to reciprocate — feels the intentional shift of his thigh against him — but he just grinds up once, for the simple joy of the pleasure that rolls into him, and then says, “Food time. I brought dinner, and we’re eating it.”

Zhan Yao looks past him to the bag, and makes a face that indicates, very clearly, him registering that he is, indeed, extremely hungry. He’s probably not had anything since Bai Yutong had manhandled him to their breakfast table that morning. He still doesn’t move, though; doesn’t let go of Bai Yutong; does rock his thigh up against him again. He says, “What about you?”

He’s kneading his fingers into Bai Yutong’s back, slow and tempting. 

He’s also still looking at the food. 

Bai Yutong grins. He sucks Zhan Yao’s earlobe into his mouth, toys there for a moment, and then slides his lips away with a lewd drag. He says, “You’re eating. And then you’re packing up your notes, and then we’re going home, to our perfectly comfortable bed, where we are going to fuck, very thoroughly, with you still wearing those glasses.”

Zhan Yao does that thing with his eyebrows, looking for all the world like the embodiment of a too-smart smirk rolled into a _challenge accepted_. 

They’re both grinning, when he says, “It’s a date.”


End file.
